


airs & social graces

by havisham



Series: havisham's SASO 2017 works collection [43]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Future Fic, M/M, Slut Shaming, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Since I was born I started to decay /Now nothing ever ever goes my wayKise meets up with an old friend and learns much more about him than he ever really wanted to.





	airs & social graces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wildcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildcard/gifts).



> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 4: Quotes, for [the prompt:](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=13976945#cmt13976945) Akashi/Kise, “Everyone was right about you. You are a damaged freak.” / “ And you’re the pathetic whore who came begging for it!” - Cold Case. 
> 
> Title and summary from Placebo, to the surprise of everyone, I'm sure.

Kise met him again in a crowded club, when someone had accidentally spilled a drink over his white shirt. Or rather it was as ‘accidental’ as anything else that happened here, and Kise didn’t miss the sharp giggle that accompanied the splash of the violent-colored drink. He slipped away from the group to find a bathroom. Maybe he’d be able to save it -- the clothes he wore, after all, didn’t really belong to him. 

The pulsing club music was muffled in the bathroom and made Kise feel like he was swimming underwater. Even the lighting was faintly blue. He obviously wasn’t alone in here -- there were sounds coming from one of the stalls that probably wasn’t someone taking a shit. 

Kise whipped his shirt off his back and rinsed off liquor as best as he could. There was still a pink stain across the breast, but he couldn’t help that. 

“Kise?” A voice floated up from behind him and Kise whirled around. 

“Akashicchi!” Kise gasped, not sure if he should be delighted or dismayed. Akashi looked much the same as he had the last time Kise had seen him, when they were both third years in high school. Kise had drifted away from his middle-school friends over years, especially when he’d decided not to pursue college ball or, actually, college altogether. 

He knew his modeling days were numbered, so why would he waste his marvelous, luminous youth shut up in some dusty classroom? 

Curiously, Kise examined Akashi, moving aside so he could wash his hands. “Do you still play, Akashicchi?” 

Akashi glanced at him. Kise noted that his eyes had become mismatched again. How unfortunate, that. Although, because of the blueish light, he didn’t seem so stridently red as he usually did. 

“No,” Akashi said, finally. “I play some in the company team, but it’s not the same. Still modeling, Kise?” 

“Of course,” Kise said lightly. “But what’s with the _still_? I’ve never been in more demand, Akashicchi!” 

“Of course,” Akashi lied smoothly. His sharp eyes had probably taken in the tired creases in the corners of Kise’s eyes, or the tiny fold of skin on his forehead. Tiny imperfections that could be easily airbrushed away -- for now -- but still constituted cracks in the fortress of Kise’s beauty. 

Kise sighed, feeling impossibly weary. 

“Are you going back?” Akashi asked. 

“No,” Kise said, fixing him with an appealing look, molten with sincerity and desire. “Take me somewhere _nice_ , Akashicchi.” 

*

They fuck against the wide windows that line the western face of Akashi’s penthouse, with the reflection of the city lights outlining their shapes in the darkness. Kise’s face and hands left greasy marks against the clean glass, but he didn’t care. Kise wasn’t stupid enough to think this was love or anything even close to it. It might not even count as lust. Maybe it was boredom instead. He’d always admired Akashi when he was younger and found it faintly disappointing that he was so easy to seduce. 

Akashi was a selfish lover, which wasn’t a surprise. 

But he’d also made Kise come more than once, which was. 

*

“You don’t mind?” Kise asked him, staring at the mirror as he put the final touches on his hair. “A lot of people still don’t like the idea of same-sex couples. And your clique tends to be more conservative than the rest.” 

“We’re not a couple, so it should be fine,” Akashi said, adjusting his black tie. 

“No,” Kise said slowly. “I guess not. Do you want a blowjob for the road?” 

“Please,” Akashi said, casting his mismatched gaze downward, in guise of modesty. 

*

Kise started living in Akashi’s spacious apartment almost by accident. The lease was up in Kise’s cramped little flat, and instead of exhausting himself looking for a new place, he’d accepted Akashi’s offer instead. Akashi wasn’t often here -- he usually slept in the living quarters at his office, a place Kise had never been and would never go -- so Kise found himself as something of a glorified housesitter. 

Every day he didn’t have an early job, he’d wake up around noon and wander into the kitchen for some food. Akashi’s meals -- and now Kise’s -- were freshly prepared and delivered daily, although Kise never saw who did it. He never saw the people who cleaned the place either, although there was no doubt that someone did it -- there wasn’t a spot of dust anywhere. 

After breakfast, Kise would go back to bed and laze around, scrolling through social media, waiting for his agent to call him to get ready for a shoot or another engagement. That was what he was doing that afternoon when he found Akashi’s secret room. 

He hadn’t sought it out -- a man like Akashi obviously had a lot of secrets, and Kise wasn’t a fool enough to want to know a majority of it. He’d been digging in Akashi’s closet, looking for a lime-green pair of trainers that inexplicably had come back into style when he carelessly bumped against one of the sock drawers. To his surprise, a whole panel of storage swung open. A little pad of numbers began to flash, warning him that if he didn’t enter the code in 30 seconds, the police would be called. 

Was this Akashi’s panic room? It made sense that he’d want one, but still. Kise had no time to think. He punched in the numbers for Akashi’s Teikou, Razukan and Vorpal Swords jerseys and sighed in relief when the screen stopped flashing.

A door opened before him. Kise knew that he shouldn't go in, knew that curiosity had killed the cat. He had a good thing going with Akashi right now -- why should he ruin it? 

But Kise had never been the kind to resist temptation. He went in.

*

Kise was waiting for Akashi when he came home. He hadn’t bothered to change from last night’s clothes, hadn’t bothered to brush his hair or his teeth. When he spotted Akashi at the door, he waved him in with a wide, not entirely friendly grin. 

When Akashi came close enough to see what Kise had in his hand, Kise threw the file at him, the papers and pictures scattering as he did so. 

Akashi didn’t look at either. He knew the contents of the room well enough, after all. “Kise,” he said, using his grown up voice, the one Kise hated so much. “You’ve been spying.” 

“What a coincidence, Akashi-kun, so have you.” The secret room had been filled with it -- every picture Kise had taken, all of Aomine’s game footage, stacks of Kuroko’s writing, Midorima’s medical files, Murasakibara’s experimental recipes. If it had just been that, Kise would have looked past it, would have excused it as the old (if obsessive) friend keeping up with his former teammates the best way he knew how. 

But there were other things. Kise’s sex tapes, the ones that had accidentally leaked to the press and several that he hadn’t even been aware existed -- where he hadn’t even know he was being recorded. Kise’s heart had squeezed in his chest painfully hard when he’d seen that. But there was even more -- Kise’s medical history, CC footage of Kise sitting next to his mother’s bed in the ICU when she had died, his hands splayed across his face. 

Every painful or pleasurable moment of his life, carefully compiled and catalogued, all for -- what? 

“Did you really masturbate to me crying about my mother dying?” Kise scoffed. “You really are as damaged as they say. Freak.” 

There was a non-zero chance that Akashi could kill him. 

He certainly looked angry enough to try. But like so many of his quicksilver moods, Akashi smiled instead. “Kise, I forget that you’ve always been like this. The lowest common denominator. The basest instincts. Honestly, you’re just a whore and not even an honest one at that. Get out of my house.” 

“Gladly,” Kise said, standing up. He had his phone and the clothes on his back, and enough money to escape. It wasn’t as much as he was owed, but it was enough. Akashi could call him a whore all he liked, but Kise knew his own worth. 

But still -- he couldn’t help it, after all -- he had to have the last word. “If I’m a just whore, Akashi-kun, then consider yourself a cheating john. That’s nothing to be proud of.” 

So Kise left that gleaming, empty apartment with its owner. Tomorrow, he would regret it. Tomorrow, he would curse himself for being stupid, impulsive, careless. But at this particular moment, he felt nothing but relief. He’d gotten away with it. He was free.

**Author's Note:**

> Read the remix of this work by dw user fickle [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24968.html?thread=16080008#cmt16080008). (Akashi is so sad and so creepy.)


End file.
